Catalina couldn't sleep.
She lay in the king-sized bed of the guest suite, the silk sheets tangled around her legs, the scent of Alexander's cologne lingering faintly in the air even though he hadn't entered the room since dinner. Her thoughts were a cyclone of chaos—his words, his presence, his gaze that had burned into her across the dining table.
The man was an enigma.
One moment he was cold and sharp, like glass. The next, there was something else in his eyes—something warmer, more dangerous.
And she wasn't sure which version of him was more terrifying.
A soft knock echoed through the quiet.
Her heart jumped. It was past midnight.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool marble floor. Pulling her robe tighter around her frame, she crossed the room and opened the door just enough to peek out.
Alexander stood there.
In sweatpants and a black T-shirt, his hair slightly tousled, his expression unreadable.
"Can I come in?" he asked, voice low.
Catalina hesitated, her throat suddenly dry. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," he replied simply. "I can't sleep. And it's your fault."
Her lips parted in confusion. Before she could protest, he stepped inside without waiting for permission.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed, watching her.
"You twist everything," he said, eyes trailing her face. "My mind. My plans. Even my damn sleep."
Catalina turned away, trying to calm her breath. "I didn't mean to disturb anything—"
"You didn't," he interrupted. "That's the problem. You didn't do anything, and still... you're everywhere."
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Maybe you just need space."
"Maybe I've had too much of it," he murmured, stepping closer.
Her breath caught. She could feel the weight of his stare, the tension simmering in the silence between them.
"Tell me to leave," he said suddenly. "And I will."
Catalina swallowed hard.
But she didn't.
He stepped even closer, now inches away. "Why do you look at me like that?" he asked. "Like I'm someone who can still be saved."
"Because maybe you can," she whispered.
Alexander's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with a storm of something unspoken. He reached out, slowly, gently, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"You drive me insane," he said.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't tentative. It was a declaration—of frustration, of want, of all the things neither of them dared to say aloud.
Catalina melted against him, her hands finding his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. He pulled her closer with a groan that sounded like surrender.
And for a moment, the world outside that room didn't exist.
Only heat.
Only them.
Only the crash of boundaries long since crossed.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Catalina blinked up at him, dazed. "What… are we doing?"
Alexander touched his forehead to hers. "I have no idea."
She wanted to step back, to find clarity in the chaos. But his arms didn't move. He held her like she was something fragile he wasn't ready to let go of.
And she… didn't want to be let go.
He brushed a kiss against her forehead, softer this time. "Sleep," he said. "I'll stay. Just tonight."
Catalina hesitated. "In here?"
He nodded. "I won't touch you, if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not worried," she lied.
Alexander gave a dry smile. "Liar."
They lay on opposite sides of the bed, the silence stretching, charged.
Minutes passed.
Then his voice, low in the dark: "Do you think it's possible to escape the people we were raised to be?"
Catalina turned to face him. "Maybe not. But I think we get to choose who we become from now on."
He looked at her, the shadows playing over his features.
"I want to believe that," he said.
And for the first time, she believed he truly did.
The next morning, Catalina woke to the sensation of warmth pressed against her back.
Alexander had drifted closer during the night, his arm draped over her waist, breath steady against her neck.
Her heart skipped.
She knew she should move. Create distance. But she didn't.
Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed herself one stolen moment of peace.
One moment of pretending this wasn't a mistake waiting to happen.
When she finally shifted, his arm tightened slightly before he stirred.
"Good morning," he said, voice rough from sleep.
"You said you wouldn't touch me," she mumbled.
"I said I wouldn't try to," he corrected. "Apparently, my subconscious didn't get the memo."
She chuckled despite herself.
He propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at her. "I meant what I said, you know."
"Which part?"
"All of it."
Catalina sat up, pulling the sheets around her. "Alexander…"
He sat up too, reaching for her hand. "I won't rush you. But I'm not pretending anymore. I want this. Whatever this is."
Her heart ached with a mix of hope and fear. "It's complicated."
"I like complicated," he said. "It means it matters."
She gave a sad smile. "I'm scared."
"I know," he whispered. "But I won't hurt you. Not like before. Not again."
The sincerity in his voice was terrifying.
Because she wanted to believe it.
She wanted him to be her exception.
Later that day, Catalina wandered through the estate gardens, needing air and clarity. The sun was high, the scent of roses thick in the air.
She found herself in front of the small, ivy-covered door again—the one she'd seen days ago. A door Alexander always avoided.
This time, it was slightly ajar.
Her curiosity won.
She stepped inside.
The air was cooler, the light dim.
It was a studio.
Wooden floors. Canvases stacked against the walls. A few paintings stood on easels—unfinished works full of emotion and chaos.
Brushstrokes that spoke of pain.
Of loneliness.
And love.
One canvas made her breath hitch.
It was her.
An unfinished portrait of her, sitting by the window in the library, eyes lost in thought.
He'd painted her.
With detail, with tenderness, with a kind of aching reverence.
"You weren't supposed to see that," came a voice behind her.
She spun.
Alexander stood at the door, his face unreadable.
"You… painted me," she said softly.
He nodded. "You kept showing up in my head. I thought painting you would help. It didn't."
Catalina stepped closer to the canvas. "Why hide it?"
"Because it shows too much."
She turned to him. "What does it show?"
He hesitated. "That I care."
The words hung between them.
Raw. Unprotected.
She walked to him slowly. "You're allowed to care."
Alexander's gaze darkened. "Not in my world."
"Then maybe it's time to leave that world behind."
He reached out and gently cupped her face. "If I do… would you still be here?"
Her heart trembled.
"I think so," she whispered.
And that small, fragile promise was the most terrifying truth of all.